Worth Having
by altairattorney
Summary: [T&T ending] They helped me. They defended me. And now… look at how many of them are still alive.


**Worth Having**

Their table was the noisiest and most crowded in the whole restaurant. For once, Miles did not mind at all.

Their dinner had been nothing short of pure chaos. In the end, after what they had been through, his unfortunate friends deserved it. Their happiness got him thinking, in a quiet moment of the evening ‒ while there was nothing new about the messy warmth of their presence, his comfort around them was more than just unusual.

Miles was not a sociable man. Which wasn't surprising, in fact ‒ at least not to him, nor to the few people who could sincerely claim they knew him. A combination of his nature and his history had taught him solitude, and steered him away from human contact every time it was possible.

Then again, nothing about the past few days could be deemed any less than exceptional. A single call had taken apart an entire period of relative quiet –and then, even before setting foot on the ground, he had been caught in a whirlwind of danger, urgency and difficulty.

He had answered with extreme measures. That was never hard ‒ in a life like his, making up wild plans was almost commonplace. But the enormous scale of the event, combined with that little time to prepare, had turned the whole experience into an ever thickening bank of fog.

He had been strangely detached all along, even in the core of the action. Only at the end, when Phoenix had rushed to meet everyone else in the lobby, Miles had felt as if he was awakening. He was slipping out of a hazy state, close to sleepwalking.

In that moment, he had believed he would faint and sleep on the spot for the next three days.

But there, in the flow of laughter, food and kind glances at him, recovery was proving easier than he had expected. Focusing on the faces he held dear ‒ and there was no denying it this time, he thought, tenderly scolding himself ‒ was more a refreshing necessity than a test of endurance. It would keep him anchored to reality, and remind him of his luck.

In his daily life, Miles could barely sustain eye contact. He was aware of it. So he chose to take advantage of the occasion ‒ calm and contented, he began studying their features one by one.

The nicest sight of them all was probably Franziska. Though he wouldn't see her parted from her whip anytime soon, she was mellow and satisfied as he rarely had seen her. She took a keen pleasure in criticizing the eyesore which was the Trés Bien décor. He had no objections to that.

Actually, the fact the restaurant was half empty told a great deal of truths about the quality of the food. He swore to himself he would make decent reservations next time.

Gumshoe, the one accountable element for this wreck of celebratory dinner, seemed to be too far out of their reach. With Maggey Byrde assigned as their waiter, the miserable, love-struck guy had been metaphorically walking on the moon all evening. He turned away whenever they talked ‒ the risk of cavities was dangerously real.

From time to time, the giant detective turned to Larry, asking for advice he was always ready to provide. Miles had to admit it was funny to some extent; he knew he would listen to Larry's disastrous solutions, just to mess them up and look ‒ he guessed? ‒ even sweeter than the object of his love. However, the prosecutor had merrily ignored them for the most part of the evening.

He had resorted to his sister, and the right area of the table. With Wright and Maya sitting in front of him, and a lively Pearl Fey by his side, there was at least enough entertainment to ignore the maddening Butz-branded theories about gentlemanly courting.

While the young Feys monopolized the conversation, it felt good to be with them. Miles was rarely a fan of small talk, but occasions like this counted. They had faced murder, incidents, traumas of the past ‒ after all that, hearing about burgers or the Steel Samurai felt like a heavenly gift.

And they seemed to share his opinion, he noticed, with delicate affection. Wright and Pearl were engrossed in a heated discussion about colored pencils. Apparently, they were having even more fun than he did watching them.

The fact Maya was the most childish of the trio amused Miles. What had once made him scowl about their collective maturity, which was way too low for their age, had now a taste of safety and familiarity ‒ it was one of the things he could hold dear, and always return to.

The events of the past few days had been especially terrible to her. All he wanted for Maya was her being happy and careless. In fact, in the last minutes, the conversation had toned down a lot without her. That was a telltale hint.

Come to think of it, the duration of her visit to the restroom was growing out of the average.

"I am sure Maya could prove glittery purple is better, Pearls," Phoenix was saying, with overblown security. No matter the context, he was still the best at bluffing. "As soon as she comes back, we'll ask her. Speaking of which… she _has_ been away for long, hasn't she?"

"It's true, Wright. She left quite a while ago."

He barged in the conversation all of a sudden. He had a specific intention, and Phoenix knew it as well as he did. The defense attorney had every reason to be alarmed, in the light of the recent events ‒ and him going to check up on Maya, with Pearl inevitably tagging along, could lead to an amount of stress and worry none of them really needed.

Sensing the growing anxiety in the younger Fey's little head, Miles considered his options as fast as he could. He was far from the best fit for a task like this. He barely knew Maya, and was not renowned for emotional understanding at all.

Still, in such circumstances, Phoenix could easily end up involved in an even bigger problem than before.

It was difficult to believe. Yet, eight seconds later, he had made up his mind. He really saw no reason not to help.

With his most elegant display of nonchalance, he stood up and bowed to Pearl.

"If you will excuse me, I will check up on her, miss Fey."

He was being a little more pompous than usual, on purpose, and he secretly enjoyed it. He pretended not to see the disbelief on Phoenix's features.

 _So what?_ Miles thought, chuckling. He, too, could afford to make good turnabouts occasionally.

"As a highly trained prosecutor, I will happily be of assistance to your cousin. I am going to send her back as soon as possible, so you can discuss your important crayon matters again."

Pearl chuckled with the mischievous tone she only reserved for Maya's most amusing impressions. On the other side of the table, a miserable Wright looked clearly relieved by how well the distraction was working.

"It's coloured pencils, Sir," Phoenix said, joining him in his mock tone. "Go ahead, and be sure to bring news."

He did not speak further, but Miles read all of his concern in his face. Unseen by Pearl, he nodded to him, and walked away with decision.

The trip to the restroom was a fairly lonely one. The few diners looked like mismatched trinkets among the decorations, which were, by all means, the most distasteful and over-the-top Miles had ever seen in such an expensive restaurant. He grimaced. The contrast between facade and substance was, to put it lightly, shameless.

"Miss Fey? Maya?"

Miles had a habit of observing his surroundings when he needed to keep focused. It was a methodical ritual of sorts, very similar to that of his investigations.

He shouldn't have been nervous while knocking the door. But he couldn't help it ‒ a long silence from Maya was certainly never a good sign.

If nothing else, the small antechamber that led to the single door was barer, and its furniture more elegant by several lengths. He noticed a glass cupboard, probably meant for cleaning supplies, and observed the fine etchings on the legs of a small wooden table.

Naturally, after staring at a a few of them, he had to come to terms with the fact Maya was not answering.

Far from feeling confident about the whole matter, Miles moved a few careful steps towards the door. He had to try again and insist, like he was used to doing in court. She would come out eventually, if she was in there ‒ and he sure hoped she was.

He knocked again, a bit more loudly. The idea of taking care of yet another disappearance was enough to make his knees give out. He was going to be optimistic, for once.

"Maya? Are you in there? It's me, Edgeworth. I am just checking up on you. It's been a-"

And the door opened wide, cutting him off abruptly.

If, until then, Maya had been hiding behind a cheerful mask, the sobbing mess in front of him was just as determined to stay out of sight. She was shivering from top to toe, each of her nerves stretched with repressed emotion, and the fat tears that rolled down her cheeks were forced to fall to the ground as silently as they could. Her breath was frantic and choked, close to a hiss ‒ he pictured an enormous range of feelings, between horror and pain, pressing against her lungs to somehow leak out.

But she wasn't letting go. Not without help. She was set on suffering alone, soundlessly. It reminded Miles of too many things, and not a single one of them was pleasant.

It was not unexpected ‒ quite the opposite. It was still terrifying.

"Maya," he wheezed, unable to prevent his arm from moving.

He reached for her shoulder out of pure instinct, driven by both empathy and a familiar anguish. He needed to help, but he also knew the dynamics ‒ and when she escaped his touch, desperately shut within herself, Miles was anything but taken aback. He knew what to anticipate.

 _Not you too_ , a remote, intensely emotional part of him decreed. On his side, he had experience, and the will to spare as many people as he could from living through the same.

It was more than enough to push him to action.

"Stay here," he ordered, in the quietest voice he was capable of.

He tried his best to sound more reassuring than commanding. While he couldn't be sure he would succeed, he tried to convey everything else with his gaze. He understood her, he wanted her to speak, to cry, to let it out. He was on her side.

"Please breathe deeply, try to calm down, and wait for me," he said softly. "I will be right back. I promise I am going to help you."

For the first time in those long minutes, Maya opened her mouth to speak.

"I-" she coughed, lowering her gaze. "I don't-"

"Take it easy, Maya. It's alright."

In the face of such an intense discomfort, Miles found it hard to stay calm himself. But he had met tougher challenges than this, and overtaken them with far less motivation. He wouldn't let his difficulties get the best of him now.

"I won't go back to the table, nor send anyone else, if that's what you need," he added, knowing how she feared the idea of worrying Phoenix and Pearl. "It can stay between us. I am going to find a quiet spot where you can be at peace, without having to hide. And then… you will choose what to do. Do you-"

His voice inevitably faltered. Her eyes were so wounded, they hurt to look at.

"Do you trust me on this, Maya?"

She was engrossed in her misery – Miles did not expect her to be any less discouraged. However, she mustered the strength to look up and give him a small smile. He found it hard to believe how tough she was.

For a terrible, fleeting moment, he remembered her sister and her confident grin, shining all the way across the courtroom. It pained him more than he could say.

Miles nodded, hoping to appear firm and comforting, before he closed the door again. The small click of the lock gave him a touch of relief. At least for a while, she would have some space to herself.

But leaving her alone was the farthest thing from a solution. He had to get her out of there, so she couldn't be found and bothered ‒ not to mention he had to move fast, but with the utmost care. Thankfully, along with the guests, the restaurant hosted a certain someone who was sure to give him the chance.

For all the horrible things that had happened to them lately, having her there was a piece of luck. His eyes searched the place from the edge of the antechamber, until, without any room for mistake, they found the swift figure he needed to meet.

"Ms. Byrde", he called out to her, as discreetly as possible.

The very moment she noticed him, ready to burst into enthusiastic greetings, he laid his index finger on his lips. She was startled, but got it right away. A bright enthusiasm and a catastrophic existence had never prevented her from being smart.

She nearly tiptoed her way to him, in an almost conspiratorial fashion. Even in such a grim situation, he couldn't help chuckling.

"Mr. Edgeworth, sir. How can I assist you?"

"Ms. Byrde, I am terribly sorry to ask so much of you. I'm afraid we are dealing with – an emergency, so to say. And no, please don't tell the others," he pleaded, gently stopping her by holding her forearm. "This is a delicate matter. If I am asking for your help, it's because… I need as much privacy as you can offer me."

Miles had made sure she would notice the direction of his gaze. Behind the garish pink panel he was staring at, everyone was certainly beginning to worry. He had to move on with his plan.

"Go ahead, sir!" she yelped, her balled fists matching her expression perfectly. Seeing such a paragon of determination wrapped in a frilly maid outfit was oddly endearing. "You can tell me whatever you need. Maggey is here to help, and to keep quiet!"

"You really are one of the kindest people I know," he told her, putting together an energetic smile. He was vaguely surprised to see her cheeks turn to a faint shade of pink, and ‒ was that the beginning of tears in her eyes?

Miles rushed to the point, both embarrassed and humbled by her goodness. No wonder Gumshoe had fallen for someone who was so like him.

"Now," he continued after a small cough, "I would be interested in the most isolated table you have got. The closer to the restroom, the better. Miss Fey needs some time to herself; I am here to make sure she gets it. If you could please keep that space for me, and bring us some sort of infusion, I would be forever grateful."

She didn't show the slightest trace of hesitation.

"Of course, sir! Mr. Armstrong will have no objections. I only need tell him it is urgent, and he will rush to the aid of anyone. He is a good person, you know," she assured him. "But I am just wasting your time. Anything else, Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Actually, yes," he replied tentatively. As little as he wanted to upset Maya, one word at least was necessary, or things would go wrong fast. "Tell… tell Wright Maya is okay. And to wait for a while, we will back very soon. Ask him to say she has a stomachache. Please speak to no one else ‒ he can take care of the others. Tell him that on my behalf, and he will understand."

Maggey was an emotional woman, but very efficient nonetheless. After throwing together an unbelievable amount of promises and reassurances, she pointed him at the table on their left, and rushed to the other end of the restaurant.

With that, he was alone again. He took a few moments to gather his thoughts, leaning against the doorway, so no one could see him from the outside.

Miles was hardly able to picture himself as a helpful person. The most prominent memories of his life were, in fact, marked by the exact opposite. Even then, as he stared at the dimly lit tiles in front of him, the images rushing to his mind were nothing but of wrongs; the people he had mechanically convicted, the people he had turned away from, without ever listening, and betrayed ‒

That was not the time. Those thoughts were far from going away for good – at least, he was aware enough to recognize the signals. He snapped out of it by reminding himself how Maya was right behind the door, waiting for someone to reach out to her. And if she had always been chipper and thankful, without a shadow of resentment for all the horrible things he was responsible for, the least Miles could do was return the favor.

He really owed her a lot. Come to think of it, it was surprising how little they both dwelled on that fact.

He cleared his throat, made sure he was prepared, and knocked delicately.

"I'm back, Maya. Are you good to go?"

The door opened slowly this time, but almost on the spot. She had apparently cried away the most of her crisis, and awkwardly tried to fix her hairdo in the meantime. Her appearance was certainly more composed, but it hadn't toned down the dead look in her eyes in the slightest.

All she really needed was a good listener. Miles knew there was no other solution.

"Mr. Edgeworth," she croaked. The sound of her voice, obvious remainder of a violent crying fit, made him surprised she had any breath left at all to speak. "I'm sorry."

She kept her gaze fixed on the floor. The chasm of guilt she had fallen into showed through, yet was barely imaginable.

This time, she let his hand on her shoulder without hesitating. Whether she needed human contact, or was too exhausted to avoid it, he was not sure ‒ but he kept it into place, respectfully, until she felt more at ease.

"There is ‒ nothing you should apologize for, Maya." His choice of words was careful; there were plenty of things she had every reason to feel sorry about. "Nothing at all. Now, if you will, let us-"

"You are wrong."

Miles was startled. His attempt to lead her towards the antechamber came to a halt all of a sudden. Her voice was starting to gain a little strength, and he could feel the waves of rage shaking her whole being.

Maya was trembling again, probably closest to fainting than she had been since the trial. Though fed accordingly, she wasn't nearly as well-rested as she would have needed to be. He instinctively pulled her closer, so she wouldn't tumble to the floor one more time.

"Every single thing…" she said, her gaze unfocused and wavering. "It was because of me. All of this- it was my fault."

Miles knew too well she meant it. He was just as sure there was no arguing it for now – if nothing else, his memory of his own tragedy could help him prevent another one. Remembering himself in his worst moments, he avoided replying, and held her shoulders steadily.

In any other occasion, it would have felt awkward to share such a lasting physical contact with someone who was nearly a stranger. But the circumstances were peculiar in so many ways.

He had a lifelong debt running, and she was one of the people he would never be able to repay. They had been ruined by the same foul plan saved by the same person. Still, while his misfortune had technically ended with Phoenix, hers had been far from over, in ways nobody could have foreseen.

If their fate was inscrutable and complicated, how closely it had bound them all together was no mystery.

This was no longer about anyone. After everything they had been through, this was about Maya.

"Please, don't focus on it, and follow me for now," he eventually said, as soon as she was able to walk. "Ms. Byrde laid a table for us. We can stay there as long as you need to. And if you want to talk, or tell me why I am wrong, you are free to do so ‒ after we get there. All right?"

She lowered her head in agreement, but didn't add anything. With every step, as they quickly reached the table and sat down, the prosecutor braced himself for the conversation which would come.

Her emotional state was all but hard to read. The familiarity of the whole situation made him dizzy. She was heartbroken and nervous, but had not snapped yet ‒ and after such a long silence, he knew it was sure to happen.

As uncomfortable as the idea made him, it was the least he could do for her.

Maya had slumped into the chair on the opposite side of the table, and was absently staring at its glossy surface. As hard as she tried to show she acknowledged his existence, it could only last so long before she lost all focus.

For a moment, he felt a rush of panic. He knew her so little ‒ he wasn't sure to give her the support she needed. Should he have sent Wright instead?

Then again, what good could that have done them?

Phoenix was not doing much better, either. Days of flu and sick worries were a heavy toll on a human body. No, it was Miles' turn to help this time.

That was why he had travelled here in the first place.

He had almost forgotten. But it was true, and one of the few certainties he could hold on to in that difficult moment. Awareness struck him like a bolt of lightning, giving him the energy to go on.

He had just begun wondering how to break the silence, when Maggey showed up with a steaming pot of green tea.

"The best of our stock, sir," she announced cheerfully, yet careful not to be loud. "On the house. Please take your time. I hope… I hope you both enjoy it. Sir. Maya."

Miles reminded himself to tip her as soon as they would set to leave.

As Maggey walked away, he noticed a tiny, yet heartfelt smile on Maya's face. He returned it, along with her gaze, and decided it was time to talk.

"I will let you speak, Maya," he began. "Before you do, however, there are a couple of things I would like you to know. Do I have your permission to…?"

Before answering, Maya took a long sip from her cup. She looked much better after drinking it. Miles secretly wondered if a passionate eater like her loved tea, too, and which qualities.

"Sure," she replied simply, basking in the warmth of her drink.

"Alright. Well… how can I put it…"

He leant against his fingers, sinking in a pensive, somber mood. As always, voicing his thoughts proved much harder than constructing them in his mind.

"The road you are travelling on," Miles finally said, "is going to be a long one. There is no short path to recovery, let alone a simple way. The last three years haven't been… ideal. For either. Forgive me if I take the liberty to speak to you so frankly ‒ I of all people. I, who was… a part of it, too."

The urge to grab his forearm and slip into remorse was not easy to fight back. But Maya had noticed, and wasn't going to let it happen.

"Come on, Mr. Edgeworth."

For the condition she was in, her tone was unbelievably gentle.

"I may have been far when it happened, but… it's not like Nick doesn't tell me anything. You moved mountains to help save my life, twice. Only a jerk could possibly blame you for a trial that happened years ago, and not even under your control."

She sounded sincere, but her voice was broken. Miles knew they were beating around the bush ‒ there was something else, something huge, bothering her.

"I still take responsibility for it," he asserted. "And I apologize. In any case… back to the subject, which is you."

He smiled, and hoped to send her way all the warmth she needed.

"That you'd want to be strong for your loved ones, Maya, is admirable, and far above the level of courage a person should resort to in a lifetime."

Miles did not miss the way her muscles had frozen at those words. The storm was coming.

"However, feeling desperate and helpless is an experience you will have to live over and over again. You can't help it ‒ no one can. But don't forget, at any cost, Maya: to repress your emotions when they come is anything but wise. You can choose whether to fight or to hide," he said, the slightest tremor in his voice. "I hope you learnt from me what hiding leads to."

She grimaced hard. Her nod was barely noticeable, and worryingly disheartened.

"For your sake, and for whomever cares about you, the worthwhile choice is fighting. Fighting until you are given yourself back. Until you always find a reason to live. And the greatest advantage you can rely on, Maya, is that you are not alone."

Miles observed her carefully. If reading people was part of his job, doing it outside of its context always proved to be a very intense experience. Even more so, because it was so rare. She still didn't give any signs of wanting to break her silence; but he knew they were treading on thin ice, right above the core of the problem.

Granted, Maya was not alone. But if she was going to keep it all to herself, the fate which expected her wasn't happy.

"You may do your best to preserve your loved ones from sadness. You will be forced to, sometimes. But you cannot pretend to be happy forever. It is more than right to show you can cry, and you aren't made of steel," he explained.

He hoped she would get the reference, and it would cheer her up a bit.

"You need help, Maya. You won't be denied any. More often than not… to love is to suffer together. Though it hurts, it becomes a lighter weight to bear, for everyone."

His memory rushed back to endless nights in the von Karma residence of old. He pictured nightmares and long silences, only interrupted by sobs, tears, burning humiliation. And Franziska's small hand in his, whenever either needed comfort.

It was always a silent pact between them. After the end of his vanishing act, it had slowly returned, and he was grateful.

"I…"

Her voice shook him from his reverie. He was prepared nonetheless.

"I just can't ask for help anymore. That's why you are wrong, Mr. Edgeworth."

As painful as they were, her words did not surprise Miles. He did nothing but sigh for a moment, and proceed as he had planned.

"Go ahead, Maya. I'm listening."

"You… speak of the people who care about me," she said, her tone devastated and reproachful at the same time. "They helped me. They defended me. And now… look at how many of them are still alive."

So, that was where the problem really lay. Having anticipated those words since the afternoon did not lessen their impact at all. Miles found himself thinking out of a grim impulse, listing the victims, one by one.

But Maya was faster.

"Sis died," she choked, her eyes brimming with tears again. "Mr. Armando sentenced himself to death… by killing… my mother. Pearl risked everything. And Nick almost died. All because of _me_. Mr. Edgeworth… how… how could I ask them for help again? Would you speak to me like that if… if he had died? If Pearl had gone missing? Would you?"

Earlier in the evening, Franziska had criticized the scarce dimensions of the table they were crammed around. In that moment, he could not help thinking they were a blessing. He easily reached her shoulder again, and held it tight, as she spilled countless tears in between sips of tea.

It was not easy to answer to that. But he had known how to do it from the start.

"I am going to say it again, Maya. None of what happened was your fault. You aren't… the man who sent your family to disgrace. You aren't your aunt. You were a victim of someone else's greed. Like… many people are. But you aren't going to believe me now, are you?"

She did not have the strength to speak.

"If you can't, it is alright. Perhaps," he said softly, "it would be better if I filled you in on some details. If I am not mistaken, you still haven't been told how and why I got here in the first place."

She shook her head, and lifted it with resolve. Despite her pain, she was ready to listen. What a brave person she was.

"You see, I flew in because of a mistake."

"A… a mistake?"

He had only been equally annoyed in few other occasions. But now that she was alive and safe, her eyes wide in stupor, the thought almost made him laugh.

"Larry told me Wright was on the verge of death," he snorted. "I did the impossible to get here as soon as I could. No point in boring you with the details. I won't pretend I wasn't frustrated when I found him bedridden because of a flu, and I discovered how stupidly he had risked his life."

She did not look happy at all. He hurried on.

"That is, Maya, until I learnt why he had. I got here to help him, and I found out the endangered life was not his anymore."

She drew in a tiny gasp. It was almost imperceptible, but adamant enough. If that was the chance to an opening, he would take advantage of it – the long process of helping her had to start from there.

"We had no way to revive anyone, but you and Pearl could still be protected," Miles explained, doing his best to convey the meaning of his words fully. "If your life had been a matter of little importance, all of us would have surrendered. It was near desperate. Still, I posed as a defense attorney, and used all of my connections not to cancel the trial. Franziska prosecuted illegally on the very same day. We fought tooth and nail to get you both back to safety ‒ and none of us would have entered a gamble, if not for something we thought was worth it."

A sliver of consolation was blossoming on her features. With all of himself, Miles hoped to see the first traces of a healing process in them. There was something struggling behind her lips, a concept tinged in gratitude and fear, and he patiently waited for her to voice it.

"You… you still risked a lot," she whispered. "How am I worth so much?"

He had not spent lots of time in her company, but the little they had lived together had been more than enough to answer. He had seen the light in her cousin's eyes when she looked at Maya, beaming as if nothing else existed in the world. He had watched Phoenix laugh and yell and be crushed in hugs; Miles himself had lived his terror on his own skin, in long hours of trial and investigations, every time she had been seriously threatened. He had breathed the same worry, the same relief as them.

He was a part of it, no less than anyone else. He needed to tell her.

"Maya," he said, soothingly. "You and I… both lost people dear to us. We had to endure the loss of family members… and our parents. I am positive you know the emptiness that follows. It is the worst kind of abandonment. It is… as if nothing mattered anymore, and the world were frozen. As if you were watching it from a glass bubble, unable to feel anything. Does that sound accurate to you?"

All along, under the surface of the table, he clutched the fabric of his sleeve. Although talking about that was never easy, it was working. Her tears kept flowing, and yet she replied.

"I guess so."

"Well," he said, his tone kind and empathetic. "Do what Wright does. Turn around the situation. And try to imagine what would happen to your friends and family, if they lost _you._ "

Maya stared for a while, clearly taken aback. The quiet sobs that followed never seemed to end, but they had changed into something other than the ones Miles had had to witness before. They were regular, softer, maybe more cathartic.

"You are a sensitive girl. You already explained it to yourself several minutes ago," he triumphantly told her. "You are worth it because you are a human life. You change and improve the world around you, be it people or things. Isn't it what our job is about, Maya? Saving just one life counts for everything. The side of the courtroom barely matters ‒ we are all defenders of people, because everyone can make a difference. And those around you are glad you are there. Letting you go would have brought devastating changes… in all of our existences."

Maya let out a feeble laugh. She was starting to feel his words like water, washing out her painful memories.

"I am really selfish, am I?" she sighed. "I should have thought about it more."

With that simple sentence, Miles' memories awakened in a rush. It was not much, but enough to recognize the beginning of something very dangerous. He would try to stop it then and there.

"You thought about it a lot, Maya, but not in the right way. You are not selfish. Suffering and showing your pain is not selfish. When people care about you, they want to see you whole, and suffering is a part of it. Thinking your life isn't worth their efforts, or that hiding your sufferings would be better ‒ these are self-centered thoughts."

He clutched his chest, ready to get to the more difficult part. If he wanted to get to the bottom of this, he might as well.

"You know, Wright taught me that," he whispered. "When I came back… you remember when. I never expected to find him furious. And yet, when I did, I understood… how selfish I had been, to leave everything behind without a word. I believed I hadn't left a single trace in anyone, or anything. But then, in front of my very eyes, he changed my mind ‒ he was living proof my existence was worth something, and there was at least one very good reason not to take it so lightly."

He could see Maya was surprised at the memory he was bringing up. It wasn't a good one to her, either. But the past was gone, and the best use for it was making the most of its lessons.

"This, Maya, does not mean I was supposed to stay, or change my plans. I had a path to follow ‒ and so will you. Growing up as people means suffering, but also being free, and learning the true weight of your choices. What you should never do," he bitterly added, "is taking for granted that you aren't worth anything, at least to someone else. If you aren't enough to believe it yourself, our loved ones remind us of what good we are. It is what they exist for."

She laughed in between her tears, tenderly. Their cups were nearly empty, and the warm vapor had wrapped them in a delicious smell. The atmosphere itself was embracing them ‒ it was inviting both to relax, and to accept their life the way it was.

"I should have talked before running away, and so should you, in the future. Don't repress your sadness, just to pretend you can handle it alone. That is the best piece of advice I can offer you."

Miles lowered his gaze, stricken by the force of his own words.

"You see, you were saved so you could live and be yourself. It is a chance everyone deserves. Then, as long as you are actually happy, you will be able to do the same with many other people."

Maya looked physically distraught, but the light of relief was all over her face.

"I… I guess I wanted to be strong for them," she muttered. "In the wrong sense. I wouldn't have lasted long by hiding everything, anyway."

"I'd say so, Maya," he replied, smiling. "You need to vent, and you deserve our support."

She fidgeted with her wide sash, looking for the right words to say. The effects of their talk, immediate or not, lingered in the air. It had rewritten their perceptions of each other, and themselves, deeply. Even Miles, as he talked, had become aware of numerous steps he had taken, without ever finding out before.

There really were no boundaries to self-discovery.

"Mr. Edgeworth, I-" she began, struggling against the fuzziness of her thoughts. "I would just – thank you, but it is not enough. I must say… I had a very different idea of who you were, before tonight. Not that I doubted your honesty and your stubbornness. You are a lot like Nick, in a way. I don't study people that much, fair's fair ‒ but if I think of when we first met… or just last year…"

For a moment, he focused on the pink fabric of the chair, deeply embarrassed. It was not a pleasant thing to remember.

Thankfully, when it came to making peace with themselves, they both had plenty of time ahead.

"Well, if this is the person he saved from certain death, Nick must be really proud of you," she concluded, now beaming. "And I don't want to sound creepy, but I am, too. I am proud of you, Mr. Edgeworth."

There was a long silence, but it was alright. All the meanings that mattered passed between them nonetheless.

"Likewise, Maya," he told her, as soon as he could find the words. "I mean it."

The times in which Miles had felt his chest full of warmth, unspeakably grateful to be alive and in the company of people like her, could be counted on just one of his hands. But this was definitely one of them ‒ there was no telling what he had experienced that evening, inebriated with relief, mindless fun, and the company of those few human beings who meant the world to him.

He had found a connection with her, too. It had always been there, woven by fate, strengthened by their will; they only had to discover it. They had both been reminded of one more person they would always be able to rely on ‒ no matter how far they would be, or how rarely they would meet.

And that, to people with their history, was incredibly important.

"I never really had the chance to tell you, Maya," he suddenly said, as they got up in unison. "How sorry I am for all that happened to our families. To think your disgrace started from the – uh, the same person. And even after… DL-6… I couldn't have imagined how far the effects of his plan would reach. In that case, I would have done my best to stop them, too."

He could see her gaze, though not directed to him, was infinitely sad. Whenever Miles tried to calculate how many lives that man had ruined, he found himself wincing in disgust.

"Not to mention," he added, "I never thanked you properly for helping save my life."

Maya turned back to him with a long, wistful glance. He would never forget the deep empathy in that gaze. Maybe she really was a medium, after all.

"No use in regretting things, or dwelling on the past," she eventually said, close to shrugging. "Our bad luck came together, Mr. Edgeworth. We couldn't help each other back then. But now, finally, we are not alone in this."

 _And thankfully,_ Miles thought, _we no longer have to be._

They got to the table just as Phoenix was entertaining Pearl, listing all the shapes and sizes of hamburgers he would buy for the cousins in the next few days. Gumshoe and Larry were roaring with laughter ‒ and if Franziska looked detached and definitely not impressed, judging from her constant mutters of "pathetic" and "unhealthy", she just couldn't hide how much she was enjoying herself in their company.

The sight filled his heart to the point it stung.

He was the first to turn his eyes, and acknowledge Miles and Maya's presence. He had understood everything, there was no doubting it. The amount of explanations his eyes were silently requiring was staggering all the same.

In the end, the prosecutor did not have much time to stay concerned. A piercing scream filled the air, and a very energetic, nine-year-old mass of crying girl captured the older Fey in a bone-crushing hug.

"MYSTIC MAYA!" she yelled. "I was so worried! Waaaaaaah!"

"Oh, come on, Pearly!" she laughed, lifting her from the ground. "Dry those big tears, now. Nick told you, didn't he?"

She did not need to turn to Miles for help. He was already following the cue.

"Yes, miss Fey," he courteously said. "Your cousin had a bad stomachache. Ms. Byrde got us medicine and a lovely quality of green tea. We waited for the effects of the drug to kick in, and talked a bit in the meantime. No reason to worry at all."

Maya proceed to reassure her little cousin with an endless flow of chatter. To Miles, it was still scary to see how good she was at pretending to be fine. At the very least, he could trust her on being more serene.

For a few moments, Maya was the only one speaking, but a whole conversation was unfolding in their glances. A safe place where Pearl could not hear, nor feel more pain than she was bearing already.

 _I'm fine, now. Trust me._

 _You are telling me everything later, no kidding._

 _Please, take good care of her, like you always did for me._

 _I promise._

 _Well done, little brother. You sentimental fool._

 _Right back at you._

Miles enjoyed that wordless communication as long as he could. It was refreshing, and near unbelievable, to share all this with someone.

A small voice brought him back to reality.

"Mister Eh-ji-worth…"

"Yes, miss Fey?"

"So it was you?" she asked, biting her thumb timidly. "You brought the me- medicine and the tea to Mystic Maya?"

"Yes, of course. Are you asking for any particular reason?"

He never got an answer. On the other hand, for causes he couldn't possibly understand, an instantaneous and incredible amount of tears welled up in her eyes.

"Why… why wasn't it Mr. Nick? It had to be Mr. Nick! He is the one who should help Mystic Maya! Her knight in sh-shining armor! Whyyyy!"

She rushed towards the defense attorney, ready to strike. Miles was almost shocked by her behavior – but she, too, had suffered a lot. And she was just the age he was, when…

He sadly remembered his own experience, and found himself deeming it natural.

He had not seen much of that menacing little fist in action, but he knew enough from Phoenix's long lasting bruises. In fact, he had immediately gotten ready to jump away.

But Wright had survived a wide range of experiences, including a fall from a burning bridge. He could survive this.

Then, something too fast to distinguish happened in front of him. The table was rowdy for a split second, and then, along with the noise, everything came to a halt.

"Pearly, stop it."

Miles focused on the details, one by one. The little arm was still quivering with the energy of a blow never delivered. There were five fingers tight around Pearl's arm, holding it into place without a move ‒ then a bracelet, and a very angry girl.

He was baffled. He never knew Maya was so physically strong.

"Mystic Maya! I was trying to defend your-"

"No," she said, quiet but firm. "There is no knight in shining armor, Pearly. What you are saying is not true, and it will never be."

"B-but… Mystic Maya…"

Once agin, Pearl's eyes grew wet and shiny. While she was obviously more nervous and irritable than usual, she hadn't expected her cousin to snap at her that way.

In truth, nobody had. She had rarely shown herself so straightforward in front of most of them. Then again, Miles had been the only one to witness what had happened before. If nothing else, everyone at their table knew ‒ with the events they had suffered through, it was as if the Fey cousins had aged years in the span of a few days.

"I mean it, Pearly. That is not how it works. No one is ever going to arrive just at the right moment to save you and make your life perfect. The only place where it happens," Maya said, "is in dreams."

Pearl's arm had grown limp, hanging from her side, and she was sobbing. It wasn't long before Maya caught her, raised her from the ground and hugged her tightly.

"What does happen," she continued with a tearful smile, "is that the people you love do their best. You did your best for me, and so did Nick, and Mr. Edgeworth, and everyone here. I never want you to hit Nick, or anyone else, from now on. I will stop you. Because the more people take care of me, the happier I am. And this, Pearly, is the real magic."

Miles walked away, to give the young girls some privacy. He found his place at the table again. While they were differently touched and understanding ‒ Gumshoe hid in a handkerchief, sobbing his eyes out, and Franziska had nothing but a smug grin to offer ‒ he could only meet the faces around him in pure joy.

He studied them once more, with the same care and attention. Nothing changed, except that he felt luckier.

These were the people who had given him everything. No matter how long the road ahead ‒ they were all worth it. They only deserved the best.

He rewarded them with his brightest smile.

* * *

 _Dear readers, let me introduce you to my longest one-shot yet, and a dream project finally come true.  
As characters, Miles and Maya interact for less than a minute in the whole series. Even so, their connection gets a lot stronger if we study it plot-wise. It was DL-6 that started their misery, and Phoenix who gave them the chance to be saved. In a more or less direct way, they were also essential in the process of saving each other's lives. And the list of similarities can still go on. I always wanted to give them a little space to acknowledge their shared misfortune, and build a basis for a better future.  
So, I set this long story during the celebratory dinner at Trés Bien. I can't promise it will be good, but I really did my best. I hope you all will enjoy it.  
Sincerely, _


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